The Moon, The Sun, The Stars
by kate problem
Summary: [Friday Night Lights, movie] Slight DonMike. It's nights like this, hot and humid, that Mike always expects to hear the tapping of Don’s fingers on his bedroom window.


**The Moon, The Sun, The Stars**

It was nights like this, hot and humid, that Mike always expects to hear the tapping of Don's fingers on his bedroom window. He stay sup late into the night, waiting to hear the _tap tap tap_-ing and the whisper of his name. If he waits long enough, as predictable as the tides, the drum of Don's fingers sounds against his window, and Mike hauls his ass out of bed, opens the window, and pulls Don into his room, muttering the occasional "fat ass". They fall in a heap on the floor, Don giggling drunkenly, resting his head against Mike's shoulder.

"Mikey," Don whispers, nuzzling his nose into the place where Mike's neck and shoulder met. Mike makes a small noise of affirmation in the back of his throat. "Mikey," Don repeats sleepily. "Why does he do it?" Mike frowns at this; it was horribly routine.

"You don't need him," Mike says immediately, pushing Don's hair out of his eyes, letting his fingers brush along Don's jaw. Don smiles shyly, pressing his face further into Mike's shoulder, hiding in the cotton shirt that Mike wears.

At first, the only sign that Don is crying is the slight shake of his shoulders that is often followed the dampness of tears soaking into the cloth of Mike's shirt. Don clings to Mike, holding him so tightly that Mike's arms almost begin to hurt.

"Let me see, Donnie," Mike murmurs, low in the sobbing boy's ear. Don lifts his head hesitantly, and Mike rubs soothing circles into his back, tugging at the hem of Don's shirt. Mike pulls them both up, so that they're sitting directly across from one another, silent. Don lifts his arms reluctantly, cringing as Mike's eyes scan over his naked torso.

This is when Mike's stomach clenches and he begins to feel sick. His fingers graze across the marred flesh where the newest blows from Don's father are already forming deep, purple bruises. There are long, thin scars, white with age, that slash down Don's chest and onto his stomach, stopping just short of the waistband of his pants. Mike finds himself staring at these, wondering the story behind them, for he knows there is a story behind every blemish on his friend's body. Mike winces as he notices the blood that trails in a rivulet of crimson from a gash running across the small of Don's back.

"Shit," Mike mutters, standing and stumbling through the darkness of his room to his bedside table where he keeps the first aid kid for occasions such as this. "Lie down," Mike instructs, and he suddenly realizes that Don's tears haven't stopped. "Donnie, you need to lie down."

"So you can fix me?" Don whispers hopefully, and Mike feels sick again.

"So I can fix you," Mike replies, helping Don lie down on his stomach. Mike looks at the tan, blood stained plane that is Don's back. He takes a roll of gauze out of the kit along with a small bottle of disinfectant, which he sprays on the gauze. "This might sting a little," Mike says. "Do you trust me?"

"How could I not?" Mike smiles at this, pressing the gauze into the wound on Don's back. Don gives a startled cry, writhing beneath him.

"I know it hurts," Mike soothes, using his other hand to stroke Don's sweat soaked hair. "But you have to stay still, alright?" Don nods, trying to look behind him. "Don't worry, I'll fix you." Mike swipes at the cut with the gauze gently until he deems it clean. Don sighs in relief as Mike rubs some Neosporin into the sore. Mike takes another piece of gauze and a strip of medical tape and secures it over the wound, still rubbing circles into Don's back. He takes a bandage and places it over the gauze. "There," He says, sitting up on his knees, and rubbing his hands together. "Come on, let's get you up to the bed." Don flinches when an arm encircles his waist, moving to pull away, giving a startled cry. "Shh," Mike soothes, tightening the grip he has around Don's stomach. "It's only me, I'm not gonna hurt you." Don nods, helping Mike to lift him. Don stumbles, crashing to the floor.

"Shit," He giggles, grinning up at Mike, who is looking at him dryly. "I think," Don says seriously. "That I'm drunk." Mike nods, shaking his head with a small smile on his face. "Help me up?" Don asks shyly. Mike pulls Don to his feet again, and together they stagger across the rest of the bedroom, Don falling onto the bed with a laugh.

"Get in," Mike sighs, pushing Don's feet under the light quilt on the bed. Don rests his head on the pillow, turning on his side to look at Mike as he pulls the quilt up to Don's chin.

"It's too hot," Don complains, wriggling around under the covers.

"I don't care," Mike returns hotly. "It gets cold in here at night, and I don't want to wake up to you whimpering and have to cover you up because you're too damn drunk to do it yourself."

"You're mad," Don accuses softly. Mike sighs.

"No, Donnie," He says, brushing a strand of sandy hair out of his friend's eyes. "I could never be mad at you." Don smiles a big, toothy smile at this. Mike returns the smile and moves to walk away, but Don catches his hand.

"Sleep with me?" Don asks bashfully, holding Mike's hand in his own. Mike smiles again.

"Budge over," Mike says, and slips into the space that Don makes. Don immediately puts his head on Mike's chest, sighing happily. "Get some sleep, Donnie." Don nods, and Mike waits for the deep breathing that he knows will soon follow. When it comes, he strokes Don's hair, placing a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, Donnie," He whispers. "More than the moon, and the sun, and the stars." He feels Don smile against his chest.

"I love you too, Mikey," He mumbles. "More than the moon, and the sun, and the stars." He pauses. "More than anything that lights Odessa."

"Sleep, Donnie," Mike says again. "This might be our last chance."

End.


End file.
